


Dream a Little Dream of Me

by brooklynbex



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bottom Steve Rogers, Dorks in Love, Explicit Sexual Content, First Dates, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Smut, Top Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-08-26 10:52:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16680250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brooklynbex/pseuds/brooklynbex
Summary: Based off of the "first date" flashback from my previous Stucky fic, "Defiant."Set in the 30s, this is the story of Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers' first dance, first date, first kiss, and first time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Steve**

The two-person dining room table is currently covered in a slew of paper, each piece jaggedly torn at the top and artfully marked with pencil lead. The sketches Steve had been focused on all afternoon were now all but forgotten as he leans against the kitchen counter, just a few feet away, waiting for a pot of water to boil. Bucky would be home within the hour and he wants to have dinner ready—it’s the least he can offer in exchange for camping out at his best friend’s apartment all day. Sure, he could have spent the day at his own place, with his mom, but he was desperate to avoid Sarah’s watchful and ever-concerned gaze. Bucky, on-the-other-hand, was less likely to wear kid gloves around Steve, and he liked that. He liked feeling more durable and self-sufficient than he was. Steve knows he’s one pneumonia away from being bedridden, but damn does it feel good to pretend he’s, well, healthy.

The sound of a rolling boil brings Steve back to the dimly lit and drafty kitchen. His thin fingers and slender palms scoop up the cubed potatoes and drop them into the steaming water. As the potatoes bob in the pot, he gets to work on opening a can of beans. Boiled potatoes and beans. It’s not much, but it’s honestly better than most nights. He’s used to settling for just one or the other. But he decided to splurge, knowing Bucky would walk into the third-floor apartment with an empty stomach and a day’s worth of appetite hoping to be acknowledged.

He pries the corner of the can open with a dull knife. When he tries to open it further, the almost nonexistent muscles in his arms quake. Steve sighs and lets the knife clatter to the counter. He curses himself for spending the entire day with a pencil tightly gripped in his hand and forgetting, or maybe refusing, to give his fingers and wrist a break. He flexes his hand and massages it with the other, moving back to the stove to watch the potatoes cook.

He hears a low chuckle echo behind him. He spins to find Bucky, covered in grease, leaning in the entryway. “Honey, I’m home,” he smirks.

Steve shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m not your honey,” he says. “But…” he pauses. “How was work?”

Bucky’s head tips back in a laugh. “Future wife? Maybe my live-in maid?” The brunette quips, ignoring Steve’s question.

“Quit it, or I’ll dump this pot of boiling water on ya,” Steve tries to threaten.

“You wouldn’t dare. Can’t go ruining the only chiseled model you know—who poses for free, I might add.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve waves, trying to shut Bucky up. “Go wash up. It’s almost ready,” he explains, gesturing to the stove.

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees Bucky salute. “Sir, yes, sir.”

Once he’s certain of Bucky’s exit from the kitchen, Steve lets out a breath and feels his stomach sink a bit. He knows Bucky was only kidding around with the ‘sir’, but he can’t help but take it as a jab. They both know he falsified another form last week. It’s hard for Steve to joke when it comes to the war. He knows Bucky’s humor is a deflection from his own fear of being enlisted, but for Steve, it’s just another area he falls notably short.

Steve drains the potatoes in the sink and pulls two plates down from the cupboard above. As he places the pot in the sink, Bucky reenters the cramped kitchen and comes to stand behind Steve’s frame. Before he can turn around to question the other man’s actions, Bucky swallows and opens his mouth to speak.

“I’m, I’m sorry, Steve. I shouldn’t have joked…”

Steve gives a sad smile but stays facing the stove. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, “At least it was accurate in a sense…”

Bucky lets out a noise of question and confusion.

“Well, we both know there’s no doubt I would outrank you.” Bucky cackles and swats the top of Steve’s head.

“Punk.”

“Jerk.”

Bucky pries the can of beans open the rest of the way and adds a scoop to each plate, foregoing the process of heating them up on the stove. Steve shakes his head at his best friend’s impatience. He pads a few feet to the other cupboard to grab glasses for tap water. His toes arch away from the chill of the floor, causing him to let out an involuntary shiver. He silently hopes it goes unnoticed—knowing that Bucky will either coddle or tease him. The teasing he can take, but he _hates_ being coddled.

“What do you say we eat in the living room, pal? My toes can’t stand to be on the tile much longer.” Steve sighs but nods, knowing that he’s the obvious reason for the suggestion. His best friend might be slick with the dames, but he sure is transparent when it comes to Steve.

Bucky carries the half-full plates into the living room and Steve trails closely behind with their drinks and two forks. Instead of setting their dinner on the wobbly end table, the brunette places the food on the carpet before striding to the corner of the room. Steve chooses not to question the move and takes a seat on the floor, placing a fork on each plate before grabbing one for himself. He takes a sip of water and watches Bucky pick a record. Soon, the sound of Frances Langford’s voice is filling the room. Steve smiles and thinks of his mother dancing around their house to this particular song.

_I’m in the mood for love_

_Simply because you’re near me_

_Funny, but when you’re near me_

_I’m in the mood for love_

Bucky returns to the center of the carpet and lowers himself until he’s sitting cross-legged next to Steve and stares a bit. “What’s on your mind?” he asks Steve.

Steve fumbles a little, suddenly feeling nervous from the intensity swirling in his best friend’s gaze. “O-oh. This song is one of my mom’s favorites,” he offers. Bucky doesn’t say anything, so Steve continues. “She said once that if my dad was around, he would have asked her to dance to it…”

Bucky’s eyes grow sad but his body perks up. “You should ask her to dance. She’d love that,” he smiles broadly.

Steve scoffs. “You know I can’t dance, Buck. Two left feet, remember?” he replies, flexing his feet for emphasis.

“Eh, that’s a load of garbage,” Bucky says, waving his hand in a show of disagreement. “Everybody can dance. You just need a good teacher,” he smirks.

Steve eyes him suspiciously. “My mom’s already tried. No one else around to teach me.”

“More garbage, Rogers. You’re lookin’ at the best teacher in the damn borough.” Bucky boasts. Steve chokes on a spoonful of cold beans, attempting not to laugh. Bucky gives him a weak, half-hearted shove to the shoulder. “You should be honored, punk.”

While they eat, Bucky tells Steve about his day and how he plans to ask Mr. Giordano for a two-cent raise. Steve is happy to listen and nod. He’s never been one for gabbing, but he sure likes listening to his friend talk—even when it’s just that—talk. When both plates are close to being licked clean, Bucky rises from the floor and extends his hand before Steve. He lifts his plate up, expecting Bucky to take it to the sink, but the other man pulls his hand back and shakes his head, smirking.

“Leave the plate. Your dance lesson awaits.” Steve looks up in disbelief, chest rumbling with laughter. Bucky Barnes, not only does he possess the gift of gab, but he’s a persistent bastard, too.

Steve grabs his hand and allows himself to be hoisted up. “One dance,” he states. “Just one. Then _you’re_ doing the dishes.”

One side of Bucky’s mouth pulls upward in a partial grin. “You drive a hard bargain, Rogers. But you got yourself a deal.” He shakes the hand that’s already in his grasp for emphasis.

_I used to dream about angels_

_But then I never knew_

_That I'd ever meet one_

_And such a sweet one_

_Till I met you_

Just as Frances starts singing the opening lines of another song, Bucky guides Steve’s hands, one to his waist, while the other remains clasped in his. Steve glances down at his feet and blushes.

“Eyes up here,” Bucky commands. “You're supposed to be looking at your partner.”

Steve cranes his neck up to face Bucky. Before his eyes connect with the other man’s, he admires the sharp edges of his jaw and the stubble that’s scattering his chin and cheeks. When his gaze moves to Bucky’s lips, his hand twitches, causing him to pinch Bucky’s side.

“I said eyes up here, Steve,” he teases.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Buck.” Steve fumbles. “You know I don’t got any rhythm,” he tries to reason.

Bucky squeezes Steve’s sharp shoulder in reassurance. “You do, your doubt is watering it down though,” he explains. “Close your eyes, listen to the music, and sway in time with my hips.”

“But you said to look at your partner?” Steve counters.

“Quiet,” he quips. “Close ‘em. Can’t have you getting distracted by my good looks.” Steve rolls his eyes before letting them fall shut. He decides to comply, hoping it makes the process a little less painful and embarrassing.

_Where did you lose your wings?_

_Have they missed you?_

_Can you get back in?_

He listens carefully and feels the circular motion of Bucky’s hips that aligns perfectly with the melody. He tries to match his movements but is certain he’s on at least a one or two-second delay.

_If I kissed you, would it be a sin?_

_I am only human, but you are so divine_

_When did you leave heaven, angel mine?_

Just as he thinks he’s on the verge of replicating Bucky’s sway, he feels warm, soft skin press to his forehead. His eyes flutter open in confusion. When he glances up, he’s startled to find that Bucky’s lips are against his head in a kiss. His knees wobble a bit from the surprise and he tries to right himself. In the process, his left foot crashes down onto Bucky’s toes.

Bucky’s eyes fly open and he jolts backward, hands releasing Steve as though he’s suddenly being burned from the skin contact. He looks like a deer in headlights, nervous and frightened. “Shit, I—” He runs a hand through his slick hair and tugs. “I-I should go. Yeah, I’m going to go.”

Steve’s mouth feels uncomfortably dry. He swallows and blinks. “You don’t have to go, Bu—” Bucky raises a hand, signaling for Steve to stop. Still, he won’t look Steve in the eye.

“You’re welcome to crash here. I’m going to go out for a drink… or five…” he trails off. Steve reaches for him and he flinches. His gaze finally meets Steve’s. He looks terrified and ashamed. “I’m really sorry, Steve. I don’t know…” he sighs. “I’m sorry.” With a shake of his head, Bucky trudges out of the room and plucks his jacket from the coat rack near the front door. He doesn’t bother to put it on before he’s out of the apartment and swinging the door shut behind him.

Steve walks backward toward the worn couch, a hand me down from Bucky’s mom, and sits when the backs of his knees hit the edge. He lets out a shaky breath and brings his hand up to his forehead. His fingertips press against the skin where Bucky’s lips had been. Steve realizes he’s sweating. But it’s not due to upset, it’s not due to disgust, no, he thinks he’s sweating because he liked it.

Steve gasps at the realization and jumps from the couch to gather his things from the apartment. In a mere minute, almost replicating Bucky, he’s out the door and racing down the stairs, eager for fresh air and the space to think.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based off of the "first date" flashback from my previous Stucky fic, "Defiant."
> 
> Set in the 30s, this is the story of Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers' first dance, first date, first kiss, and first time.
> 
> More chapters to come!

**Bucky**

He’s downright groggy and fairly certain there are bricks dragging from his work boots, the double-strength coffee he’d chugged first thing this morning has barely touched his hangover. He didn’t even bother looking in the mirror before leaving his apartment, deciding that avoiding his reflection might preserve a sliver of dignity if he didn’t have to face the dark circles, greasy hair, and the obvious lack of his signature smirk. Bucky had once hated it, thought it made his face look lopsided. But then he hit puberty and his aversion vanished. That inviting smile that just naturally tugs at the corner of his mouth is now his best card—well, _was._

He fucked up his entire romantic track record last night. He didn’t even  _get_ to pull out the smirk, his lips had moved like they had a mind of their own, eager to attach themselves to the pale, smooth skin of Steve’s forehead. He wasn’t mad at his lips, how could he be? Steve was everything good and kind and wonderful—sure, he was a pain in the ass and feisty as all hell—but damn was he perfect, too. But Bucky never meant for that adoration and quiet crush to ever see the light of day. He could try his luck with any dame on the island if he so desired, but even entertaining the idea that he and Steve could test the waters was ignorant and plain stupid.

And yet, here he is, walking the sidewalk with his chin tucked to his chest, hoping to avoid any living thing—person or otherwise—for fear that he’ll blurt out “I made a move on my best friend!” to anyone who asks how he’s doing. As he continues to internally kick himself, Bucky realizes the next block he’s approaching is Steve’s. It takes a minute before his head can convince his feet to cross the street. And just when he reaches the edge of the sidewalk, planning to reroute, he hears a thick voice, far too meaty for the body it booms from, call out to him.

“Buck!” Steve hollers from ahead.

Bucky considers making a mad dash knowing he can easily lose Steve if he wants to, his causal pace already a challenge for his shorter counterpart to match on a good day.

“Wait up!”

Steve’s panting a little by the time he reaches the street corner. Bucky’s eyes dart around, glancing at storefronts and street signs in avoidance, but when they sweep over Steve’s form for a millisecond, he pauses. Steve’s wearing the same clothes he had on the night before, white shirt with the top button undone and a pair of brown striped suspenders holding up his pants, and there’s a bruise blossoming at the peak of his left cheek. He looks like he hasn’t slept.

Bucky’s heart drops at the assumption that he’s the reason for his best friend’s disheveled, seemingly sleepless, and battered state. Why did he have to go and ruin one of the greatest friendships in Brooklyn? Why did he have to get lost in the feel of holding Steve and Steve holding him? The two of them pressed together from chest to toes, hands intertwined—

“You look awful and smell worse,” Steve comments.

Bucky rolls his eyes and snaps without thinking, “Thanks, pal. Mind telling me something I don’t know?”

Steve shoves his hands in his pockets and sighs, a loose piece of golden hair flutters on the exhale. “I tried to find you. Wandered around for a bit, popped into a few bars—”

“That where you got that?” Bucky interrupts, gesturing to Steve’s face. He wants to reach out and stroke it, check for swelling.

“Some guy was giving a girl a hard time. I piped up and got this in exchange.” He says, poking at the angry, purple mark. Bucky nods knowingly. “I went back to your apartment hoping you’d be there…” Steve trails off, waiting for an explanation concerning Bucky’s whereabouts.

“I bought a bottle and went to the park for a while—wanted to be alone,” he starts. “Got back to my place pretty late. I was kind of hoping you might have stayed, but… Listen, Steve, like I said last night, I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. You know me, I’m a romantic.” He pauses and shoves his hands in his jacket pockets flustered. “You see,” he says, “you mean a lot to me, pal. And just, I knew you were nervous about dancin’ and I wanted to make you feel better.” He knows he’s rambling, but this is his only chance to clear the air and not lose his best friend forever. “It just felt right…” He offers with a weak shrug of already hunched shoulders.

Steve starts to gently giggle. Bucky thinks maybe for the first time in his life, Steve Rogers is being cruel, kicking a guy when he’s down, but then he adds, “You could have at least bought me dinner before making a move, Barnes.” Bucky’s mouth parts in surprise. He suspects it’s a light-hearted joke, but then he notices the dusting of a blush that appears across Steve’s cheeks. His stomach flips with excitement and he decides to push his luck.

“First date before the first kiss more your style?” he quips, watching as Steve’s pink blush rapidly deepens and extends to his neck. Bucky’s smirk returns thereafter, triumphant and a smidge cocky. He feels his usual swagger bubbling between his ribs. “I’d be more than happy to wine and dine you, Stevie,” he continues, eager to slip in the nickname that always makes his childhood friend’s eyes roll.

When Steve doesn’t respond immediately or try to crack another joke, Bucky worries he’s overstepped. But before he can retract his flirting as a game gone too far, Steve pipes up.

“How about tonight then?” he asks, face hot but voice surprisingly steady.

“Tonight, yeah,” Bucky replies perhaps a tad too quickly for his liking, so he adjusts his stance and places a hand on his hip and lets one knee bend a bit, in an attempt to appear more casual. “I get off around 5. Give me an hour to get cleaned up?”

“All right, Buck. It’s a date.” Steve says matter of factly.

Bucky feels like he should extend his hand, finalize this “agreement” with a handshake—just to be safe and certain—but he refrains. This is uncharted territory, and for the first time in a long time, he’s nervous and unsure of himself. He fiddles with the change that’s loose in his pocket, hoping the clang of metal will fill the silence or maybe even spur on something witty to say.

Suddenly his mouth is moving before his brain can tell him to zip it. “You kiss on the first date?”

Steve scoffs and swats him in the chest. “Get to work, jerk,” he says, feet turning in the direction of his ma’s apartment. “You’re going to be late and Mr. Malachowski will have your hide,” Steve hollers as the distance between them grows.

Bucky shakes his head in amusement and disbelief. _Steve Rogers, he thinks, always a wild card._

The rest of his commute to the docks is rather pleasant as his head replays the unexpected events of the morning. Steve wanted to go on a date with him. Steve didn’t hate him. He was taking his best friend on a date. He was—

“Shit,” he spits out. “I need to plan our date!”

_____

He wants it to be special and undeniably romantic. Once he wraps up at work, he stops by Raphael’s, the Italian place on the corner of Bedford Avenue near the bridge, to make a reservation. But when he tells the receptionist his name, she laughs and tells him he’ll need to put a deposit down if he wants a table. His face is torn between a scowl and a heated blush at her implication, although valid, that he can’t afford to eat there. With plan A scrapped in a disappointed huff, plan B is quickly devised: redecorate his apartment to resemble that of a five-star, or at least four-star, restaurant. With less than an hour left before Steve is scheduled to arrive at his door, Bucky rushes to the corner store for candles and a tablecloth. He’s fairly certain he has the ingredients to make a bare-bones spaghetti stashed away in his cupboards, but to be safe, he makes a final stop at his ma’s.

He’s grateful that she asks minimal questions, doesn’t even bother asking who the “lucky lady” is, but instead stocks up his arms with some extra pasta, herbs, and even two wine glasses that she promises to break his neck over if they don’t return to her cabinets unscathed. When she leaves the room in search of candles, telling Bucky the store-bought ones he got won’t do, he peers around the kitchen looking for wine. He spots a bottle of already-opened red on the far end of the counter and shuffles in its direction. Before he can snatch it, his mom tuts from the door. He freezes.

“I, uh…”

“This must be some girl, James,” she teases.

“More than some girl, Ma,” he pleads.

She walks back into the kitchen and picks up the bottle, placing it and a pair of long, thin candles on top of Bucky’s impressive loot.

“Thanks,” he says with a guilty smile. His mom leans forward to press a kiss to his cheek and then ushers him to the door, shooing him out of the house and on his way with twenty minutes left to prepare.

_____

“Buck?” Steve calls from the doorway, not bothering to knock. Bucky jolts upright from where he’s hunched over the stove, stirring the bubbling sauce. He smooths his hair back and checks his reflection in the glass of the window. “Where are you?”

Bucky clears his throat. “In the kitchen!” He twirls a single rose between his fingers, eager for Steve’s entrance.

Steve enters the kitchen and smiles, his blue eyes dancing around at the sight before him. “Wow,” he breathes out. “Buck, you didn’t have to do all this.”

Bucky glides forward, mustering all the charm he can, and presents the flower to Steve. “I, uh, I wanted it to be special.”

Steve wraps his fingers around the rose. “Just one?” he jokes. “You give a rose to all the ladies, Barnes?”

Bucky wracks his brain for a witty response, but if the past twenty-four hours has taught him anything, it’s to go with the truth. “No, Rogers,” he says. “Just you.”

He’s never felt so nauseous on a date before. He doesn’t know what’s crawled under his skin, but he can’t quit fidgeting and wiping his sweaty brow. As they eat, he drops compliments left and right, instantly becoming addicted to the color of Steve’s cheeks when he’s embarrassed or caught off guard. He knows he should give it a rest, stop laying it on so thick, but it’s hard to now that his thoughts about his best friend don’t have to be filtered.

The moment he pauses to take what’s only his third or fourth bite of now cold spaghetti, Steve puts his fork down and stares, eyes crinkling in concentration. Bucky raises his eyebrow in response as he tries to swallow the mouthful of pasta. Then Steve asks, “Why me?”

Bucky takes a swig of wine to clear his throat before mumbling out a, “huh?”

“Every dame in Brooklyn, probably even Manhattan, would say yes to you. So, why me?” Steve repeats, eyes lowering.

It’s Bucky’s turn to blush and he reaches for the wine again. “Because…” he starts, taking another sip from the glass. “Because you’re, you’re you.”

“I’m me?” comes Steve’s flat reply.

“You say that like it’s not a good enough reason,” Bucky counters.

“It’s not. You’re you, Buck. Suave, handsome, capable,” Steve says and Bucky’s heart pounds a little faster. “And I’m me—frail, sickly, and the furthest thing from what most would consider a catch.”

“No, Steve,” Bucky’s voice raises on its own. “You’re determined. You’re kind. You’re the type of person every mother hopes her kid grows up to be. And if you want to talk about being a catch—you’re easier on the eyes than any dame I’ve ever seen. But,” Bucky pauses to take a breath. “You’re also thick headed and duller than a butter knife. I, on the other hand, am just a lucky bastard. More wine?”

Steve’s eyes widen and he releases a startled laugh. Bucky smiles and shakes the wine bottle to emphasize his question. “Yeah, sure,” Steve shrugs in amusement. Bucky empties what’s left of the tart, red liquid into Steve’s glass.

Following dinner, Bucky clears the plates, slipping them into the soapy water of the sink alongside the soaking pots. He’ll worry about those later, right now he has his and Steve’s second first dance to attend to. He finds the other man in the living room, fidgeting with the buttons on his shirt, slightly pacing as the beginning of “Walkin’ My Baby Back Home” by Nat King Cole crackles through the quiet.

_Gee, it's great after bein' out late_

_Walkin' my baby back home_

_Arm in arm over meadow and farm_

_Walkin' my baby back home_

After spending a few more seconds admiring the view, Bucky pushes off the doorframe and walks up behind Steve. “How ‘bout a redo?” he offers.

Steve turns around, bumping his shoulder into Bucky’s stomach in the process. He winces. “You sure you want that?”

Bucky chuckles. “Yeah,” he says, extending his hand. “I’m sure.” This time Bucky leads and grips Steve’s slender waist. He pretends to not notice the slight shiver that emerges from the touch. He tugs Steve’s frame closer, for the purpose of using his body heat to warm the other man, and because he simply wants Steve near. He feels a contented sigh from Steve whoosh into his chest. He wants to comment on the fact that they’re in sync and his toes are still intact, but he savors the moment instead.

_She says if I try to kiss her she'll cry_

_I dry her tears all through the night_

“You should do it again,” Steve whispers.

“Do what?” Bucky questions, glancing down at what he can see of Steve’s face.

Steve cranes his neck up, but his gaze stops on Bucky’s mouth. “Kiss me.”

Bucky stares dumbfoundedly, mouth falling open. Before he can rein in his surprise, Steve is standing on his tiptoes and rising up to capture his mouth in a kiss. His grip on Steve’s waist tightens and he pulls him forward. When Steve nips at his bottom lip, it causes an involuntary and undignified squeak to release from the back of Bucky’s throat. Steve breaks the kiss with a quiet laugh.

“Smooth, Barnes,” he quips. Bucky pinches his side, a pleased smile growing across his face when Steve jumps in his hold. “Jerk.”

“Punk,” Bucky matches, moving back down for another kiss.

Two more dances and a handful of imperfect kisses later, Bucky walks Steve home before returning to his apartment. Although still humming with excitement, he falls into bed like a giddy schoolboy, envisioning the blush that covered Steve’s cheeks most of the night—whether from a tad too much of the wine he had just about nicked from his ma or from the continuous string of compliments that Bucky couldn’t keep from slipping loose between his chapped lips. Although the night had been far from perfect: the tomato sauce had been burnt, the heat in his apartment stopped working halfway through the meal, and his downstairs neighbor wouldn’t quit practicing his squeaky clarinet—nothing could take away from Steve Rogers. His oldest friend. His best friend. _His Stevie._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based off of the "first date" flashback from my previous Stucky fic, "Defiant."
> 
> Set in the 30s, this is the story of Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers' first dance, first date, first kiss, and first time.
> 
> More chapters to come!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it's been so long since I last updated! I hope this tides you over until the last (smutty) chapter is written and posted. Thank you so much for the encouragement and feedback. I adore it.
> 
> Also, apologies for any errors. I wrote this in an excited and eager state.

**Steve**

 

As the door closes with a gentle click, Steve lets the weight of his buzzing body fall back against it. His heart is refusing to slow down, no matter how much he tries to regulate his breathing. His eyes fall close and he smiles to himself. Bucky Barnes, his best friend since childhood, the fella that every girl and guy in Brooklyn—whether they would admit it or not—wanted to date, had kissed him. Not just once either. Steve had tried to keep track throughout the night, but it seemed that once Bucky had Steve’s permission, the brunette was eager to steal pecks on the lips whenever they weren’t talking. Steve shakes his head in a laugh and brings his fingertips up to his mouth to touch the still swollen flesh. He reimagines the way Bucky’s hot breath had mixed with his when they’d pull apart for air. The achingly recent memory causes his cock to twitch. Steve’s face grows hot and he peels himself away from the door, eager to reach the seclusion of his comforter and bed sheets.

 

As he tiptoes down the hall, trying to avoid any ornery floorboards of their apartment, he presses an ear to his mother’s bedroom to double check that she’s asleep. Once he hears her gentle snores, Steve goes to his room and starts stripping down to his birthday suit. The chill of the night air encourages him to go faster, desperate to climb under the worn, dusty blue comforter that hides the busted up twin mattress beneath it. He keeps his socks on, hopeful to preserve some body heat and slips under the covers. As he shimmies up the bed, Steve realizes he has nothing to slick his hand with. Refusing to get out of the bed, for fear that another creak of the floor or bed will wake his ma, resulting in an even worse situation, Steve purses his mouth and spits into the palm of his hand. He expects a wave of shame to hit him, to tell him to slow down and at least have some dignity, but it never does. All he can think about is Bucky’s borderline predatory eyes and inviting mouth. He strokes himself to full hardness, a rarity at times considering his poor circulation, and flicks the head. Steve gasps. He’s never felt comfortable in his skin, let alone getting himself off, but there’s a fire in his belly that’s causing his vision to blur and his head to swim.

 

He imagines Bucky beside him, his husky drawl whispering into the shell of his ear, telling him how he thinks he’s beautiful and that he wants no one else but Steve. His left-hand trails up his flat, pale stomach and rests on his chest. His fingers start to move again, tips wrapping around a pointed nipple and squeezing. He shivers from surprise and pleasure. Steve’s never felt so daring and uninhibited. He pretends Bucky is giving and for once, he’s allowed to take. Two more tugs and he’s spilling into his hand, spunk dotting the comforter. His muscles give out and he melts into the bed. He knows he should get up, clean himself off, but he hasn’t come that hard in his life. And it’s all because of a jerk by the name of James Buchanan Barnes.

 

_____

 

A few weeks have passed, but Steve finds himself greeting each day with a renewed sense of confidence and excitement. And this morning is no different. There’s a lightheartedness to the way his body moves, aches and pains minimal. He feels loose and happy. Sarah smiles when she spots him emerging from his room.

 

“Morning,” she beams up at him from where she’s sitting at the kitchen table, both hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee. Steve smiles back and notices the sugar bowl is still covered. He frowns.

 

“Ma, you know you don’t have to save all of the sugar for me. I know you like your coffee sweet,” he says.

 

She shakes her head at him. “Don’t you worry about me.”

 

Steve can’t help but shake his head right back at her. He knows exactly where he gets his stubborn- and self-righteousness from. He takes a seat across from her and grabs the mug that’s already waiting for him. He takes a sip of the coffee as is, refusing to reach for the sugar. _Two can play that game, he thinks._

 

Sarah laughs at her only son. “You’re extra playful lately,” she observes, eyebrows raising in question.

 

Steve catches her gaze and tries to suppress the grin that’s pulling at his mouth.

 

“Oh, come on now. You’ve been strutting around the neighborhood like a cat that ate the canary. Spill the beans,” she teases.

 

Steve thinks she looks exceptionally pretty in this light. The blonde curls resting above her shoulders are outlined in a golden hue from the morning sun that’s filtering into the tight quarters of their kitchen. She cocks her head to the side, trying to get his attention. He knows he should make something up, tell her that Mr. Jensen is giving him free studio time to perfect his drawings or that he found a wad of cash and he’s been living like a king... but she’ll never believe him—full well knowing that her son would never take or keep things he hasn’t earned.

 

“Steve,” she says this time, voice suddenly concerned by his silence.

 

“I’ve been seeing someone,” he blurts out, anxious to rid her of any worry. “It’s been really… nice,” he swallows.

 

Her face lights up again. “How wonderful, sweetie! Who’s the lucky girl? Do I know her?”

 

Steve’s heart clenches. He frowns. “Don’t ask me that, Ma.”

 

Sarah’s face drops. “Why?” she asks.

 

“Because you know I can’t lie to you,” he replies, trying to hold her steady gaze.

 

“Now why would you have to lie, Steve?” She reaches out for his hand. Steve sighs and squeezes her delicate fingers in his. “You know you can tell me anything.”

 

Although he appreciates her reassurance, Steve is well aware of the consequences of his and Bucky’s newfound relationship. If anyone found them out or even suspected something queer, they’d be in deep.

 

“I do, Ma.” He nods and squeezes her hand again. “It’s just—”

 

“Steve,” she interrupts, clearly mindful of her son’s hesitancy. “Tell me when you’re ready, yes?” Steve nods bashfully. Sarah slips her hand from Steve’s and rises from the table. “I have to work another double at the hospital. You’ll have the apartment to yourself tonight,” she explains, shrugging on her jacket and grabbing her purses from the counter. “If this mystery person comes over, that’s fine, just…” she pauses. “Be safe.”

 

Steve’s face scrunches up in confusion. Sarah gives an uncharacteristically wicked smile. “Ma!” Steve flushes. She blows a kiss and waltzes out the door, eyes sparkling with mischief.

 

When the door closes, Steve gulps at his ma’s insinuation. Sure, he and Bucky had gone farther than kissing, but they’d yet to do that. His mind starts to spiral with thoughts of him and Bucky, images that make his body burn and toes curl in anticipation. He wonders what it would be like to give himself up to the other man, to let himself be loved completely. Steve startles from his thoughts at the realization that he doesn’t know anything about sex. Yes, he was familiar with the human form—male and female—but he had no clue how to make love. Bucky was experienced, and Steve was anything but. He’d be bringing a knife to a gunfight.

 

Without another thought, Steve jumps from the table and races out the door and down the stairs as fast as his bony legs can carry him. When he hits the pavement, he turns east in the direction of the library.

 

_____

 

Once inside, he tries to maneuver from shelf to shelf without being spotted. He makes it to the Biology section unnoticed and searches for texts on anatomy—among other things. With two books pressed tightly to the front of his shirt, Steve ends his search and seeks out some privacy amongst the dusty shelves. He settles at a table in the far corner. Before he can muster up the courage to lay the books down in front of him, a voice breaks the silence of the library.

“Thought that looked like your mop,” Bucky jests, voice sounding winded.

 

Steve looks up in shock and tightens his grip on the books. He wants to make a mad dash but quickly realizes his efforts would be futile. He blinks and opens his mouth. “S-since when do you come to the library?”

 

“Since I was across the street at the Jewish bakery buying a bagel and saw you rush in here,” he answers, shoulders going stiff. “Why? You not want me here?”

 

Steve shakes his head. “Of course I want you here.” Bucky accepts Steve’s response and takes a seat at the table. Steve pulls the books closer to his chest, trying to keep the titles and covers from view.

 

“What you got there?” comments Bucky.

 

Nosey fucker, he thinks. Steve loosens his grip to look less suspicious. “Don’t worry about it.”

 

“Hmph,” the brunette huffs out.

 

Steve tries to sort out his next move. He needs to find a way to get these books back on the shelves and away from Bucky’s prying eyes and lethal curiosity. As his eyes shift around their quiet corner of the library, he notices the other man’s form sinking lower across the table. Before he can give his full attention, Bucky’s boot collides under the table with his shins. He lurches forward in pain causing the books to tumble onto the wooden surface. Steve’s eyes widen in terror. He forgoes rubbing the tender flesh of his surely bruised leg and scrambles to collect the text. Bucky’s hand stops him.

 

“You dirty devil, Stevie,” Bucky tuts with an amused grin.

 

Steve’s hand is caught under Bucky’s. Think of something, you idiot. He stutters, “It’s for my sketches. I’m working on the human form.”

 

Bucky laughs then. “That’s an impressive lie for you, Steve. And I’d buy it if it weren’t for the flushed cheeks and sweaty forehead you’re sporting.” He lets his hand up off of Steve’s and settles back into the chair.

 

Steve scowls. “Don’t go being a jerk. This isn’t funny.”

 

“It’s a little funny.” Bucky quips, steel-blue irises dancing. Steve’s blush deepens, the way it always does when Bucky gets that mischievous glint in his eyes. “Plus, ain’t nothin’ in these books that I can’t teach you.”

 

It’s Steve’s turn to laugh. “I know you got dames lining up, but this,” he says gesturing between the two of them, “Might be a little different.”

 

Bucky’s skin gives little away, but the sudden dusting of pink on the apples of his cheeks doesn’t go unnoticed by his blonde counterpart. “I know enough.”

 

“How?” Steve asks just a little too quickly. There’s a newfound twinge of jealousy bubbling in his chest and he’s not sure what to make of it so he forces his shoulders to relax before continuing. “I mean, how do you know what do with… a guy?”

 

“The fellas at the docks talk sometimes,” Bucky shrugs.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Hey,” Bucky says, leaning away. “If you aren’t comfortable, we don’t—”

 

“No,” Steve spits out. “I-I’ll be comfortable—if it’s with you.”

 

“That’s good, Steve.” Bucky smiles, eyes glistening. “Look, there’s something I wanted to tell—”

 

Steve feels courage bubbling inside him, egging him on, telling him to bite the bullet. He knows Bucky’s mouth is moving, but all he can think about is having Bucky show him what he knows, what he’s already thought about doing. “Want to come over tonight?” He spits out. His eyes widen, knowing he just cut Bucky off.

 

Bucky’s eyes crinkle and he laughs at Steve. “You’re something else, pal.”

 

“Gosh, I’m sorry, Buck. What were you saying?”

 

“It can wait,” he replies calmly. “But what were you saying?”

 

“Uh, my ma’s working tonight. Got the apartment to myself…” Steve trails off, eyes glued to the table.

 

“You trying to lure me into your bed, Rogers?” Bucky jokes.

 

“Maybe I am,” counters Steve, gaze rising to meet Bucky.

 

“Shit. O-okay. Yeah, tonight. Tonight is…” says Bucky, words tumbling out. He swallows and runs a hand through his hair. “Tonight works for me,” he finishes, voice returning to its usual calm and cocksure tone.

 

“Great. So since you know ‘enough’ you can bring the stuff.”

 

“The stuff?”

 

“Yeah, the stuff,” Steve nods pointedly, moving to stand. “Put these books back, will ya? I’ll see you around 8.”

 

“Y-yeah, sure. Of course.” Bucky’s tone is laced with confusion, but he gives a nod. Steve moves no more than five feet when Bucky calls him back. Steve comes to his side and waits. “Kiss goodbye?” he whispers.

 

Steve shakes his head, exasperated but endeared—and heart starting to swell. He makes sure the coast is clear and leans down to peck the side of Bucky’s cheek, knowing full well he wanted it to land elsewhere.

 

“Tease.”

 

“Know-it-all.”

 

With that, Steve turns and heads toward the exit. But before he rounds the corner, he peers back at Bucky. He’s now hunched over the table with one of the books flipped open, the pages sideways and his mouth agape.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based off of the "first date" flashback from my previous Stucky fic, "Defiant."
> 
> Set in the 30s, this is the story of Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers' first dance, first date, first kiss, and first time.
> 
> The final chapter is here!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost three weeks since I last posted, but I promise I've been chipping away at this as much as I could! I'm not thrilled with this final chapter, but I worked my butt off on it and I think it's just time to share it as is.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this exceptionally long, smut-filled final chapter.
> 
> Apologies for any errors (I'm an editor by profession, but as my coworker said to me today: "Eyes get tired." And I am indeed tired. 
> 
> As always, thank you for the encouragement and feedback. It keeps me going!

**Bucky**

 

Everything that was weighing on Bucky’s mind before he waltzed into the library in search of Steve has been replaced by an ache in his groin. His thoughts are swimming as he tries to wrap his head around the fact that his Stevie requested that he come over tonight for sex and to bring “the stuff.” Once the shock in his system settles, he deduces that “the stuff” must equate to slick and a condom. He closes the books that are spread out before him with a huff.

 

“Ain’t nothin’ in here that my street smarts and common sense haven’t already taught me,” he mutters to himself.

 

He has a few hours before he’s expected, and that’s just enough time for him to head back to his place, grab “the stuff,” and maybe jerk himself off once or twice now that his pants are growing unbearably tight thanks to his favorite blonde.

 

_____

 

Bucky knows he’s going to make it to Steve’s door a few minutes early, but his feet are refusing to slow down. He checks his jacket pocket for what’s most likely the tenth time just to make sure he has the supplies. His hand has to shove past folded pieces of paper before he can snatch the condom and tin of slick. His eyes dart along the sidewalk before he pulls them free, only to stash them in the other side pocket for easier access. He climbs the stairs leading up to Steve’s apartment, taking two steps at a time. At this point, he’s sweating, but he’s feet from the door and can’t seem to care. He goes to knock, but the door swings open to reveal what appears to be an annoyed Steve.

 

“Jeez, Buck. It sounded like a rhino was barreling up the stairs.” Steve rolls his eyes. “Get in here before Mrs. Monatello comes out to file a noise complaint.”

 

Bucky lets Steve tug him in by the sleeve of his jacket. He stumbles behind the smaller man until they come to a halt in the living room. Steve turns to face him again.

 

He looks healthier than normal, Bucky notes. There’s a twinge of color to cheeks and his back is straighter. It makes Bucky smile.

 

“Why are you smiling like that?” Steve asks.

 

Bucky smiles some more. “You look good, Steve. Really good.”

 

Steve’s face softens at that. “Thanks, Buck,” he mumbles, cheeks gaining more color. “So do you.”

 

Bucky pulls Steve in and presses his face to his chest. “Don’t go soft on me now, Rogers.”

 

Steve laughs into his shirt and lightly punches his gut. “You wish.”

 

When Steve pulls back, Bucky continues to hold him close, not wanting to break the contact.

 

“Sorry for causing such a ruckus out there. I was…”

 

“Eager?”

 

“You could say that.” Bucky ducks his head a little and shies away.

 

“Better than you feeling underwhelmed about the whole ordeal, I guess.” Steve’s wearing a smirk now, eyes twinkling.

 

“Never need to worry about that, pal.”

 

Bucky loves this. Loves when Steve busts his chops, gives him a run for his money in the back-talking department. He knows Steve could go all day, and he’s thrilled when he gets to witness it.

 

Steve tugs Bucky back in by the pockets of his jacket. Before he can stop him, Steve tugs out the paper from the one side and quirks a brow.

 

“That’s uh,” Bucky fumbles. “That’s not what you’re looking for. Try the other side,” he suggests, gently grabbing the papers from Steve’s hands and shoving them back into his jacket.

 

Steve shrugs and feels around in the other pocket. He swallows when he pulls his hand back out with the tin and condom in his grasp. He loosens his grip and stares.

 

“We’re actually doing this,” Steve says almost in disbelief, voice nervous.

 

“We don’t, we don’t have to?” offers Bucky.

 

Steve cranes his neck up to really look at Bucky. “Like I said before, if it’s with you, I’ll be comfortable.”  


Bucky’s stomach swoops. He cradles the back of Steve’s neck and bends down to capture his lips in a kiss. With the condom and tin still in one hand, Steve grips Bucky’s side with the empty one.

 

As Bucky cards his fingers through the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, he allows the other to wander. He starts to draw a line down at his shoulder blades and pauses when he reaches the top of Steve’s pants and ass. He pulls away to ask for permission.

 

With a small and dazed nod from Steve, he slips his fingers under the material of Steve’s brown slacks and underwear. He feels the blonde’s breath hitch and keeps going until he’s tracing a finger up and down his crack.

 

“No teasing,” says a breathy Steve.

 

Bucky chuckles but obeys, removing his hand from the back of Steve’s pants so that he can work on ridding him of his suspenders. Steve catches on fast and starts to move them down the hallway and toward his room. When they pass over the threshold, Steve tosses the condom and tin on the bed and wiggles from Bucky’s grip so that he can close the door and lock it.

 

“I thought you said your ma was working a double?”

 

Steve nods. “She is, but just in case.”

 

Both of Steve’s suspender straps are hanging at his sides now and his fly is down. Bucky’s seen Steve in disarray before, but tonight feels different, knowing what they’re about to do. His dick perks up at that and he gets to work on removing his own clothes.

 

“Wait,” Steve pipes up from the door. “Let me?”

 

Bucky gulps. “All yours,” he says, doing his best to appear cocksure.

 

Steve shakes his head and moves forward. He starts with Bucky’s jacket and tosses it somewhere near the bed. Next is his shirt. Steve’s hands sprawl over Bucky’s bare and broad chest. When his fingers catch on his chest hair, a whimper slips from Bucky’s lips. Steve glances up at him, eyes glassy. He tugs again. The moan that releases spurs Steve on and he ducks his head to take a pert nipple into his mouth.

 

“Shit,” Bucky whispers.

 

He lets Steve worship his chest until there’s wetness spreading along the front of his trousers and the urge to get the other man naked takes over. He cups Steve’s head and guides him back. “I need to see you.”

 

There’s a line of spit hanging from Steve’s mouth and he looks rather incoherent, but he nods and tugs the rest of his clothes off. When he gets down to his socks, he wanders over to the bed and lies down. “You comin’?”

 

Bucky gaps and rushes to shuck off his pants and underwear. His cock bobs free, the head leaking. He watches as Steve's eyes him and swallows. Bucky reaches a hand down and strokes himself as walks over to the bed.

 

He sits down facing Steve and wraps a hand around Steve’s calf—his hand shakes.

“You trust me?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve responds. “More than I should sometimes.”

 

Bucky laughs, giving his leg a warning squeeze. He lets go of his cock and picks up the tin of slick from the mattress. “I’ll go slow.”

 

Five minutes pass and Bucky is one finger deep in Steve’s heat. His mind is swimming wondering how his entire dick is going to fit in there. Every few seconds, Steve lets out quiet mewls and his grip on the bed sheets looks borderline painful.

 

The second finger goes in smoother and now Steve’s pushing down, trying to chase the digits as they move inside of him. Bucky’s mouth is dry.

 

“More,” Steve pants.

 

His ring finger nudges in along with his pointer and middle. The fit is snug, but Steve’s body just keeps adjusting.

 

“How does it feel?” Bucky asks, tone low and raw.

 

Steve’s eyes are squeezed shut. “Tight, but good. I don’t know how you’re going to fit.”

 

Bucky can’t wait to find out, but his worry overrides his desire. “Maybe we just use my fingers tonight? Work our way up?” He offers.

 

Steve scoffs. “Quiet, Barnes. You aren’t that _big_.”

 

Bucky and Steve both know that’s a lie, but Bucky plays along. “Ain’t nothing you can’t handle.”

 

“Damn straight.” Steve blindly reaches for the open tin of slick and coats his hands before grabbing Bucky’s cock that’s curving slightly toward his stomach. Bucky twitches in his grasp. Steve spreads his legs wider in invitation. “I’m ready.”

 

Bucky wants to give Steve more time to stretch and adjust, afraid of hurting him, but when Steve Rogers makes a decision, there’s no arguing with him. So Bucky withdraws his fingers and moves to lay between Steve’s open legs.

 

“You sure?” He asks for good measure.

 

Steve pulls him down for a sloppy kiss, his tongue darting out to lick at the sides of the brunette’s mouth. The kiss breaks with an audible pop. “Yes.”

 

Bucky sucks in a deep breath, rolls the condom on, and gives his slick cock another long stroke with slick.

 

**Steve**

 

As Bucky tries to enter Steve, every muscle in his body clenches. He sighs in annoyance. “Sorry,” he whispers.

 

Bucky releases a shaky breath and rests his weight on one arm so that he can use the other to stroke Steve’s side. “It’s okay. We can stop.”

 

Steve jolts upward, grabbing the other man’s wrist. “No! Just—just give me a minute,” he reasons.

 

Bucky stays where he is and offers an adoring smile, “I’m not going to hurt you, Steve. I promise.”

 

“I know that, Buck.”

 

“Do you?” Steve nods. “Then relax and let me take care of you, yeah?”

 

Steve huffs. “I can take care of myself, jerk.”

 

“Yeah, don’t I know it.” Bucky chuckles. “Come on, Stevie. It’s me. Let me make you feel good…”

 

Steve’s blush deepens and his cock twitches from where it’s trapped between their abdomens. He hopes Bucky didn’t notice, but he sees his eyebrow raise and his mouth starts to open. Before he can comment, Steve slaps a hand over Bucky’s mouth. “Don’t you dare say a word.” He can feel Bucky’s lips curl into a smile beneath the expanse of his fingers. “I swear, Buck,” he says as threatening as possible.

 

He knows Bucky could easily peel his hand away, but he doesn’t, he just waits for Steve. Not in a daring way, Steve thinks, but out of respect. He likes that about Bucky, likes that he lets Steve make his own moves, his own decisions—even if he outwardly declares that he thinks they’re stupid. Bucky lets Steve _be._

 

As Steve starts to remove his hand from Bucky’s face, Bucky darts forward to nip at one of his fingers. The tip of his middle finger catches on Bucky’s bottom row of teeth and he draws it back in to suck on it. Steve’s eyes widen. He feels embarrassed by the wave of lust that washes over him, but he can’t look away. He doesn’t want to look away when Bucky’s tongue is enveloping his pointer finger now, too.

 

“Always loved your fingers,” Bucky confesses, pausing his assault. “Long and lean… delicate.”

 

Steve considers objecting but elects for pushing his fingers back into Bucky’s warm mouth instead. Bucky accepts willingly. “God, Buck,” he all but moans.

 

Steve’s fairly certain he could come just from Bucky worshipping his fingers, but his throbbing cock reminds him of the end game. “S-stop,” he stutters. “I need to feel you. I want you in me.”

 

Bucky nods with glassy eyes and lets Steve’s hand fall to the mattress. There’s a string of saliva that catches Steve’s gaze, it’s attached to Bucky’s swollen lips. He reaches back up to wipe it away, which causes Bucky to laugh.

 

“You’re insatiable,” he taunts.

 

“Shut up, you mook. I was cleaning up your mess,” Steve counters.

 

Bucky gapes in mock offense. “Oh, I’ll show you a mess,” he teases, moving both hands to Steve’s sides where he starts to tickle the flesh.

 

Steve will deny it until he’s blue in the face, but he’s outright giggling now. And while he’s struggling to fill his lungs with oxygen between the fits of laughter, Steve’s brain keeps saying one thing: _I love him, I love him, I love him._

 

“Bucky, stop,” he wheezes. Steve’s body squirms from another poke. “Come on, stop.”

Bucky releases his hold on Steve’s lean sides and looks at him with wide, guilty eyes. “Sorry,” he says, “Your lungs OK, pal?”

 

Steve shakes his head at his best friend’s concern, expression falling somewhere between disbelief and adoration. _Shit, I really do love him._ “All good,” he reassures. “It’s just…” Bucky stares, waiting. Steve gulps. “I-I think I love you.”

 

“You _think_?” Bucky throws his head back and lets out a cackle. Steve wacks him in the stomach, good and hard. “Sorry, sorry. I love you too, but damn are you thick sometimes.”

 

“You know, you’re ruining a perfectly romantic moment, jerk.” Steve’s trying to keep a straight face, but the corners of his mouth are betraying him.

 

“I don’t think it’s ruined,” Bucky counters, eyes drifting down to admire both of their still noticeably hard and leaking cocks. “Do you _think_ you want me to try again?” He smirks.

 

Steve laughs and nods. “Yeah, but only because I said you could.”

 

“Oh yeah? You the one giving the orders around here?” Bucky reaches for the tin of slick and strokes himself.

 

“Always,” Steve jokes, puffing his chest out.

 

This makes Bucky really smile and Steve’s chest truly does expand with pride. He thinks he’s become addicted to having an effect on the other man, or maybe he’s always been addicted but just never let himself indulge the way he’s truly wanted to. Steve knows what makes Bucky smile, what makes Bucky laugh, what makes Bucky horny. And when he manages to make Bucky do or be any of those things, Steve sure as hell lets his ego bask in it. But it doesn’t stem from a sense of power, there’s never been a power dynamic between them, it’s much more than that. It may have taken Steve’s brain a hot second to catch on, but he knows now that it’s love.

 

“I really do, you know,” Steve says, tone turning serious. “Love you.”

 

Bucky’s smile broadens and Steve reaches for his face and pulls him down. Their lips meet and Steve sucks in the air from Bucky’s mouth eagerly. He’s happy to accept Bucky’s wandering tongue, and instead of his usual instinct to meet his every move, Steve nestles back into the mattress and lets Bucky’s hands and mouth roam. He feels his entire body heating up again from the attention, face and chest surely dusted by a soft, pink blush.

 

The friction of skin on skin encourages Steve to tangle his lean legs around the other man’s back, feet locking at the bottom of his spine. Without pausing the kiss, he feels Bucky reach between them to grab his own cock and tease Steve’s entrance with the tip. Steve gasps into Bucky’s mouth and tightens his grip, clinging to the brunette with increased ferocity. When the head of Bucky’s dick starts to push in, he digs his nails into the flesh of his back, leaving angry half-moons in his wake.

 

“Fuck, Stevie.” Bucky pauses allowing Steve to adjust. Steve’s already starting to pant and wants to tell Bucky to keep going, but he can’t find the air or words to do so. Bucky catches his eyes and smiles. “We are so stupid,” he says. Steve gives him a puzzled look. “We could have been doing this ages ago. You feel so good,” he explains, letting his hips inch forward a little more.

 

Steve huffs out a laugh that transforms into a moan. “Always thinking with what’s between your legs, Barnes.” Bucky gives a shallow thrust in response. “We’ve got time.”

 

The other man nods almost solemnly and Steve wants to question it, ask him why the long face, but before his brain can connect to his mouth, everything in him short circuits. Bucky’s groin is now flush with his backside and he’s never felt so full, so complete.

 

“You all right?” asks Bucky.

 

All Steve can do is move his head up and down. Steve’s not sure how Bucky is so calm and in control in this moment, but he envies his composure.

 

“Just keep breathing. It’ll feel even better soon,” Bucky promises.

 

For some reason, that makes Steve’s blood boil. He doesn’t want Bucky to have to coach him through this or soothe him. He wants to make James Buchanan Barnes, the most-desired fella on this side of the East River, an absolute and utter wreck. With an ounce of strength and hell of a lot more determination, Steve uses his frame to push Bucky onto his back. The bed protests and Steve climbs over Bucky to straddle his lap.

 

“Holy shit, Ste—”

 

Before he can finish, Steve reaches behind him to guide Bucky’s cock back into his entrance. He sinks down on the length in one fell swoop.

 

Bucky groans. “Fuck,” he says, thick hands reaching up to grip Steve’s thighs. “Sweetheart, give a guy some warning.”

 

“You like surprises and I’m not your sweetheart,” counters Steve.

 

“You’re right about one thing,” Bucky agrees, eyes dancing. “You’re not sweet at all.”

 

Steve wants to wipe the grin from his face but suddenly he’s being lifted off of Bucky’s dick, only to be pulled back down. Steve howls in pleasure.

 

Bucky manhandles Steve and builds up a steady rhythm. Steve thinks he should protest or take charge, but every time Bucky thrusts up, he hits a spot inside Steve that makes his toes curl. He knows he’s letting embarrassing whimpers and gasps slip from his loose lips, but it just feels so damn good.

 

“Feel good, Stevie? Bucky asks as if reading his mind. Steve’s not sure if he’s actually expecting a verbal confirmation. So instead he locks eyes with him, hoping the blush covering the expanse of his upper body and the dopey grin he’s certain he’s sporting are enough encouragement. He wants to kiss Bucky, but his brain is all but fried and he can’t sort out how to make that happen in his current state.

 

“I need…” he trails off.

 

“Anything.”

 

The loose grin on Steve’s face broadens. “Kiss me,” he pants.

 

Bucky slips out of Steve and flips their position, pinning the blonde’s hands above his head. He leans down to capture Steve’s lips and kisses him for all he’s worth. Steve’s fingers spread and Bucky releases his grip on his wrists to lace their fingers together. The kiss is filthy with saliva and teeth and tongue. Steve doesn’t want it to end, but his lungs are demanding he breathes. He turns his head to the side and gasps. As he gulps in air, Bucky starts sucking a mark into his neck.

 

“You good?” Bucky asks between kisses and licks.

 

Steve smiles to himself. “Yeah,” he pants. “G-great. But no closer to coming, thanks to you.”

 

Bucky scoffs. “Excuse me for giving you what you asked for, pal.”

 

“What, you can’t kiss and fuck?” Steve feels another blush blossom at his own words.

 

“Steven Grant,” Bucky tuts. “You kiss your ma with that filthy mouth?”

 

“No, just your ugly mug.”

 

Bucky dives back in for a kiss and plasters his body to Steve’s in the process, everything now touching from the tips of their noses that press together as they kiss, to the ankles and feet that Steve hooks around Bucky’s calves as he tries to pull him impossibly closer. The friction causes the blonde to rut up against Bucky’s body.

Bucky takes the hint and moves to sit up and back on his haunches. He grips Steve’s ankles and tugs him down the mattress a little, hitching one of the smaller man’s legs over his shoulder and wrapping the other around his hip bone. He lines up with Steve’s entrance, but this time he doesn’t hesitate to sink in.

 

Steve squirms and clutches the bed sheets, fabric gathering between his sweat-slicked palms and fingers. He feels Bucky press his lips to the inside of his thigh. Their eyes lock and Steve can’t help but adore the glazed look his partner is wearing. Steve’s defenses fall and every ounce of anger and frustration over his self-declared inadequacy simmers. “Make love to me, Bucky.”

 

Bucky pulls out so that the tip of his cock is still inside Steve and then thrusts back in. As he builds a steady pace, Steve feels the heat in his belly rising. His entire body is humming with energy, begging for release. It’s so much at once, but he needs more.

 

“Harder,” he tries to command, but it comes out as more of a plea. Bucky’s eyes darken and he speeds up his movements. On one particularly powerful thrust, Steve jolts upright from the unexpected and overwhelming pleasure; it spreads from his core to the tips of his limbs. “T-there,” he chokes out. “Keep going.”

 

Bucky moans in acknowledgment. “Never want to stop doing this, Stevie. I’d stay here forever.”

 

Steve knows he’s drunk on pleasure and love, but he lets out an involuntary whimper and his eyes start to well up. Bucky takes notice.

 

“I got you, sweetheart,” he reassures Steve. “Let go.”

 

Steve reaches for his own neglected cock, but before he can wrap his fingers around the length, Bucky replaces his hand with his own. He does his best to jerk Steve in time with his thrusts, but his hips are becoming erratic as he inches closer to release. Steve lowers his one leg from Bucky’s shoulder so that he can wrap both around the brunette’s waist. He doesn’t know whether to buck up into the tight hold of Bucky’s hand or push down on his dick. Steve feels like he’s ablaze, skin pink and covered in sweat—and whatever Bucky’s thumb is doing to the head of his cock is making the edges of his vision blur. The coil in his belly starts to wind even tighter and he knows he’s about to come, but instead of warning Bucky, he grips his bicep and holds on in anticipation.

 

Bucky turns his head to the side and bends his neck down to press a feather-light kiss to his knuckles. “Come for me, doll.”

 

Steve does. Thick, white ropes paint his abdomen and chest. His orgasm wrecks him, causing his entire body to shudder from the intensity. And Bucky is there to hold him through it.

 

When his head clears and his body settles, Steve realizes that Bucky has slowed his thrusts and is about to pull out. “Wait, no!” he says, causing Bucky to freeze, his hard cock still halfway in Steve. “I want you to come in me.”

 

Bucky’s mouth parts in surprise, but he’s quick to recover. “You sure, Stevie? I don’t mind—”

 

“Please,” Steve whispers.

 

Bucky swallows and pushes back in. His pace starts off slow again, but Steve can tell that he’s holding back. “I want to see you come. I want to feel you in me. I can take it,” Steve says, as though he needs to convince Bucky that he’s capable of this.

 

Bucky pants. “I want to, Steve. I want to fill you up until it’s leaking out of you.”

 

Steve’s softening dick gives a half-hearted twitch at that. _Damn, he thinks, James Buchanan Barnes will be the death of me._

 

 **“** Come on, Buck. Come in me.”

 

And that’s all the encouragement he needs. Steve’s sensitive hole flutters around Bucky’s cock as it releases inside of him.

 

Bucky collapses, trying to catch his weight on his elbows to keep from crushing Steve. “Shit. That was…”

 

“Good?” Steve jokes, lifting his head off the pillow to kiss Bucky’s damp forehead.

 

“ _Really_ good,” Bucky mumbles into the crook of Steve’s prominent collarbone, breath hot.

 

Steve reaches for the glass of water that’s on the bedside table and takes a sip before offering it up. Bucky passes, probably wanting to save all of the water in the glass for Steve, and rolls over to the other side of the bed.

 

Bucky hesitates to settle in and asks, “Can I hold you?”

 

Steve wants to say yes, but he hesitates. Sure, they’ve been intimate, but he’s never really let Bucky treat him like a dame. He’s never let Bucky hold or cuddle or caress him.

 

“It’s OK if you don’t—”

 

“No,” Steve interrupts. “I-I want you to.”

 

Bucky smiles and settles back against the wall and opens his arm. Steve shimmies his way over and lets his back meet with Bucky’s chest. They’re both still warm, but Steve gives a shiver and pulls the blanket over their laps and rests his head against the other man’s sternum.

 

The sound of Bucky’s heartbeat, sturdy and constant, guides his breathing. As his eyes grow heavy, he cranes his neck up in search of one more kiss.

 

Bucky meets him halfway and sighs. “I love you, Stevie.”

 

Steve smiles and burrows his head into Bucky’s chest. “I love you, too,” he whispers.

 

**Bucky**

 

As Steve sleeps soundly atop him, Bucky’s mind wanders to the papers that are folded up in his jacket. It’s the thing he had wanted to tell Steve about when he found him at the library, it’s the reason he’s been fighting back tears for the last hour while Steve sleeps, it’s why he’s in bed next to the blonde wishing the war would somehow just _end_ tomorrow.

 

He reaches for the jacket that’s laying in a heap on the floor, careful not to disturb Steve’s sleeping form, and plucks the papers from the pocket. He unfolds them from their crumpled state and reads: New York National Army Guard. 107th Infantry. Sergeant James Barnes ordered to report for duty tomorrow. Shipping out at 06:00 for England.

 

Bucky squints at the clock on the wall of Steve’s bedroom. It’s nearing midnight.

 

In six hours, he’ll be leaving Brooklyn.

In six hours, he’ll be kissing his ma and sisters goodbye.

In six hours, he’ll be crossing the ocean to almost certainly meet his death.

In six hours, he’ll be crushing the only heart he has ever and will ever love.


End file.
